"That oil-"
"Uh-uh! That'll do for" exposure-weakened parasites you might pick up by handling an object that's been touched. But with skin-to-skin contact, the bugs're pretty stout little rascals. Come on downstairs, though, we'll make a pass at it,"
Paul followed him quickly down the corridor. Behind him, a soft voice was murmuring: "I just can't understand why nonhypers are so…" Mendelhaus said something to Seevers, blotting out the voice. Paul chafed at the thought that they might consider him cowardly.
But with the herds fleeing northward, cowardice was the social norm. And after a year's flight, Paul had accepted the norm as the only possible way to fight.
Seevers was emptying chemicals into a tub of water in the basement when a monk hurried in to tug at Mendelhaus' sleeve. "Father, the sisters report that the girl's not in the building."
"What? Well, she can't be far! Search the grounds. If she's not there, try the adjoining blocks."
Paul stopped unbuttoning his shirt. Willie had said some mournful things about what she would rather do than submit to the craving. And her startled scream when he had cried out in the darkness-the scream of someone suddenly awakening to reality-from a daze-world.
The monk left the room. Seevers sloshed more chemicals into the tub. Paul could hear the wind whipping about the basement windows and the growl of an angry surf not so far away. Paul rebuttoned his shirt.
"Which way's the ocean?" he asked suddenly. He backed toward the door.
"No, you fool!" roared Seevers. "You're not going to-get him, preacher!"
Paul sidestepped as the priest grabbed for him. He darted outside and began running for the stairs. Mendelhaus bellowed for him to stop.
"Not me!" Paul called back angrily. "Willie!"
Moments later, he was racing across the sodden lawn and into the street. He stopped on the corner to get his bearings. The wind brought the sound of the surf with it. He began running east and calling her name into the night.
The rain had ceased, but the pavement was wet and water gurgled in the gutters. Occasionally the moon peered through the thinning veil of clouds, but its light failed to furnish a view of the street ahead. After a minute's running, he found himself standing on the seawall. The breakers thundered a stone's throw across the sand. For a moment they became visible under the coy moon, then vanished again in blackness.
He had not seen her.
"Willie!"
Only the breakers' growl responded. And a glimmer of phosphorescence from the waves,
"Willie!" He slipped down from the seawall and began feeling along the jagged rocks that lay beneath it. She could not have gotten down without faffing. Then he remembered a rickety flight of steps just to the north, and he trotted quickly toward it.
The moon came out suddenly. He saw her, and stopped. She was sitting motionless on the bottom step, holding her face in her hands. The crutches were stacked neatly against the handrail. Ten yards across the sand slope lay the hungry, devouring surf. Paul approached her slowly. The moon went out again. His feet sucked at the rain-soaked sand.
He stopped by the handrail, peering at her motionless shadow. "Willie?"
A low moan, then a long silence. "I did it, Paul," she mut-tered miserably. "It was like a dream at first, but then… you shouted.,. and…"
He crouched in front of her, sitting on his heels. Then he took her wrists firmly and tugged her hands from her face.
"Don't..."
He pulled her close and kissed her. Her mouth was fright ened. Then he lifted her-being cautious of the now-sodden cast. He climbed the steps and started back to the hospital.
Willie, dazed and weary and still uncomprehending, fell asleep in his arms. Her hair blew about his face in the wind. It smelled warm and alive. He wondered what sensation it would produce to the finger-pore receptors. "Wait and see," he said to himself.
The priest met him with a growing grin when he brought her into the candlelit corridor. "Shall we forget the boat, son?"
Paul paused. "No… I'd like to borrow it anyway." Mendelhaus looked puzzled,
Seevers snorted at him: "Preacher, don't you know any reasons for traveling besides running away?"
Paul carried her back to her room. He meant to have a long talk when she awoke. About an island-until the world sobered up.
Part 5. Civilization Destroyed
Even if humanity survives, the civilization it developed over the last ten thousand years may not, in a "Catastrophe of the Fifth Class."
We are, for instance, beginning to suspect that the Sun is not quite as reliable a luminary as we have been taking for granted. Suppose the Sun undergoes a small hiccup, nothing of importance to itself, or very noticeable from out in space- yet enough to introduce sufficient change on Earth to break down humanity's fine-tuned system of society ("Last Night of Summer" by Alfred Coppel).
Or humanity can do it to itself. Wars have been endemic since the beginning of civilization, certainly, and they have been growing steadily more deadly as technology advances. With the coming of the nuclear bomb, the true Armageddon has finally become possible. ("The Store of the Worlds" by Robert Sheckley).
Consider, though, that civilization is the product of humanity's three-pound brain, the most magnificently organized bit of matter we have any knowledge of. What if something goes wrong with it-whether other-induced or self-induced ("How It Was When the Past Went Away" by Robert Silverberg)?
And finally, what of the sword of Damocles that truly hangs suspended over humanity; the one catastrophe that is visible, perhaps even inevitable, and is eating away at us now-overpopulation. What if we continue to increase our numbers and if the mere weight of flesh and blood breaks us down ("Shark Ship" by C. M. Kornbluth)?
Last Night of Summer
by Alfred Coppel
There were fires burning in the city. With the house dark- the power station was deserted by this time-Tom Henderson could see the fires clearly. They reflected like bonfires against the pall of smoke,
He sat in the dark, smoking and listening to the reedy voice of the announcer that came out of the battery-powered portable radio,
"-mean temperatures are rising to abnormal heights all over the world. Paris reports a high yesterday of 110 degrees.,. Naples was 115… astronomers predict… the government requests that the civil population remain calm. Martial law has been declared in Los Angeles-"
The voice was faint. The batteries were low. Not that it mattered. With all our bickering, Henderson thought, this is the finish. And we haven't got what it takes to face it. It was so simple, really. No war of the worlds, no collision with another planet. A slight rise in temperature. Just that. The astronomers had discovered it first, of course, And,there had been reassuring statements to the press. The rise in temper-ature would be small. Ten percent give or take a few million degrees. They spoke of surface-tensions, internal stresses and used all the astrophysical terms not one man in two million had ever taken the trouble to understand. And what they said to the world was that on the last night of summer it would die.
It would be gradual at first. Temperatures had been high all summer. Then on September 22nd, there would be a sudden surge of heat from that familiar red ball in the sky. The surface temperature of the earth would be raised to 200° centigrade for seventeen hours. Then everything would be back to normal.
Henderson grinned vacuously at the empty air. Back to normal. The seas, which would have boiled away, would condense and fall as hot rain for a month or so, flooding the land, washing away all traces of man's occupation-those that hadn't burned. And in two months, the temperature would be down to where a man could walk on the surface without protective clothing.